The Grapple Pact
by DrunkOnJerichohol
Summary: Welcome to the first annual Grapple Pact, a fierce test of strength designed to preserve the lives of the strong and end the lives of the weak. With The Shield's very existence on the line, the group has only one message to send: BELIEVE in The Shield.


**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any and all original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

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I think I've officially gone Shield-crazy, but it's _so_ much fun! I planned on only writing the next chapter of my other Shield story, when I was hit with this idea, and I just knew I had to write it. On a side note, since all three Shield members are main characters in this story, it tends to switch between their viewpoints throughout the chapter. If it's too confusing, let me know, and I can decide on only one of them to tell the story through the eyes of. This idea is not really wrestling-related and might take a bit of getting used to, but hopefully you guys will warm up to it. Big thanks to all of you who decide to read this.

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An intense battle of wills hung precariously overhead. Roman Reigns, Dean Ambrose, and Seth Rollins had worked in the ring as a collective unit each week since their November 2012 debut, so it was only fair they arrive at Titan Towers as a solid group, determined to uphold their designated meeting time. Multiple meetings were being conducted in each room on the top floor of the building, as that was where all the executive offices resided. Each superstar on the main roster had been scheduled for a professional session, in which the details and expectations of their trip would be outlined by one of five people who understood the full significance of what was a new yearly event, known only as The Grapple Pact.

Vince McMahon headed the private conferences behind the thick wooden door of his personal office, and Linda and Shane took an extended break from their separate projects outside of the wrestling business to make sure the events of the weekend would go off without a single hitch. Paul Levesque and Stephanie McMahon, Executive Vice Presidents of Talent and Creative, respectively, rounded out the pack and took on the remaining bulk of meet-ups that hadn't yet been attended to. The time had come to both assess the talents and highlight the progress of their current crop of Superstars and Divas, allowing for cuts to be made to the men and women unable to keep up with the majority of the pack. Vince, co-creator of the new survival trials, determined it was a necessary means of separating the weak from the strong.

Conversation was stunted in the Titan lobby, as was understandable, considering the dire circumstances. Natalya and Alicia Fox occupied two of the six chairs directly across from Roman, Dean, and Seth. The men's gaze met the women's more than once, but each time, they would break off eye contact, pretending to focus on something more interesting in a different corner of the room, all so they could avoid having to speak. Alicia sat with her arms wrapped around her torso, eyes watery and legs trembling, as if the dam would break and she would burst into tears at any moment. The fragility of everyone involved was showing through tenfold, and the stark silence cutting through the lobby was a testament to the emotional outlook of those entering The Grapple Pact for the first time.

The crackle of a nearby two-way radio came to life, and Roman's eyes followed a mousy, blond young woman with dark-rimmed eyeglasses as she pulled the device from her belt loop and brought it to her mouth, pressing the speak button. "Just got to the lobby, boss."

"Thanks for letting me know," Paul Levesque's voice came over the line and circulated aloud throughout the room. Cindy, the employee in charge of manning the lobby desk during business hours, pretended to do paperwork so she wouldn't have to focus her attention on the unease and pain in the eyes of each performer who entered the building. Having worked the desk and overheard the talks during recent weeks, she knew all about what was taking place, and the thought of anyone in the room succumbing to their forced environment and not returning to work was a type of dread she wasn't readily prepared to confront. It was easier to ignore her surroundings, so she dipped her head down and hummed a light tune to herself. "You know what to do."

"Yes, of course," the assistant spoke into her radio a final time, tucking the clip back onto her belt loop and smoothing the bottom of her velvet jacket over it. She pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose and revealed a mouthful of blindingly white, perfectly positioned teeth as she smiled reassuringly and addressed the room, filled with only a fraction of those on the complete roster. "Things are happening a little bit differently today. The one-on-one meetings are taking too long to conduct, much longer than anticipated, and have been canceled indefinitely. I'll need you all to come with me."

A rush of hushed exclamations rippled throughout the room straight away, and the assistant paused and resigned herself to waiting for them to die down, as if she had expected the procured reaction long before stepping foot into the room. The men and women sat in small groupings across the span of the room, each person turning to the neighbor beside them and weighing in on what the latest changes could mean for their near future. Seth, maintaining his reputation as the outspoken one in his group, was first to raise an objection. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Excuse me?" the assistant asked, taking a break from chomping on her chewing gum as she peered through her eyeglasses at Seth's stubborn scowl.

"What's your name?"

"Kara," she supplied. Seth could almost see her resolve lessening the longer he challenged her orders. He hated to take his anger and anxiety out on an innocent bystander, but she was in on the details of the festivities that were soon to come, so she couldn't possibly have been _too_ innocent. "Kara Donahue."

"Well, Kara Donahue, listen up, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once," Seth began. Dean caught him with a sharp nudge in the arm, an act which only served to raise his ire, and he jabbed his elbow into Dean's side, near his ribs, to stave off his efforts. His friend meant well and only wanted to keep him from saying something he might regret, but if he was being sent to play ball, figuratively speaking, Seth felt it fair to at least get a final chance to speak his mind. "In a matter of hours, I'm being sent to some random place to deal with any number of things that could possibly ruin my life or end me altogether, and if you expect me to go, then you're not canceling my only meeting with the people in charge of this whole thing."

Others grunted their approval and Kara lost more of her nerve, shrinking inside herself and taking a feeble step backwards. "I k-know this is h-hard," she stammered, "but I'm only following strict orders from the boss. There are no more individual meetings due to time constraints, so we're gathering everyone in a single conference room upstairs, and you'll all meet with them at the same time. There will be a question and answer portion afterwards, for those of you who feel the need to speak up."

"Oh, I've got a lot to say," Seth rolled his eyes, much to the chagrin of Dean and Roman. The more Seth objected, the bigger the target on their back would grow, and that meant the people in charge could make their lives a living hell during the Grapple Pact if they felt so inclined.

"Cool it, dude," Roman whispered.

Subsequently, Roman was first to rise from his seat, and everyone followed, as if needing one brave soul to take the plunge before they would be willing to stand up and follow Kara out of the room. Of all the Superstars, Seth, Roman, and Dean were arguably the newest rookies there, but something about their swagger when they roamed as a group must have fooled their peers into thinking they were _the_ people to look to when times got rough. Whether they liked it or not, they were leaders of the locker room, even in their state as fresh meat of the WWE, and presenting themselves as such was no small feat. Roman came to a stop at the first of many in the bank of elevators lining the far side of the lobby wall and ushered the women into the first car.

His bold eyes met both Seth's and Dean's, and they widened the slightest bit, his silent urge for them to follow his lead and make sure everyone else made it safely onto the elevators before they rode up themselves. With everyone sorted into their own cars, the men took the remainder of stragglers on an elevator with them, and they were all ushered inside the first conference room they came to on the top floor, by none other than Vince McMahon himself. He was all smiles, shaking hands and patting backs as they entered the doorway he stood at the entrance of. Roman's rigid smile was forced into position, as he assumed everyone's was, but he held it together for the sake of himself and his friends.

Paul and Stephanie sat beside one another near the summit of the lengthy, rectangular table, each of their heads bowed as they conspired in softened voices. Each of them were dressed in professional business suits as they continued to duck their heads, save for every few seconds when they would send a vague wave towards the steady stream of people entering the room. Neither of them allowed for growing attached to people they might never see again, so they kept their distance, for the most part. Roman passed behind them and paused, the shadow his large stature cast on them too bold to be ignored.

"Paul, Stephanie," he nodded politely to each of them.

"Roman," Paul nodded back.

Stephanie managed a smile, though she sent it towards an old, forgotten bookcase pushed up against the back wall, unable to meet Roman's eyes. He pressed forward, keeping his gaze low as he listened to his friends give Paul and Stephanie the same forced greeting. Oh, how he wanted a way out, but none was available. Chairs were placed around the table, only enough for the executives, as there was only standing room available for the remainder of the room's occupants, so Roman found a place near the corner, with Dean and Seth coming to rest on either side of him. Dean looked to his left and found that most of the Divas called in that day — Natalya, Alicia Fox, Aksana, Kaitlyn, and Layla — had gravitated to one another and all stood huddled close by, talking lowly amongst themselves.

The Superstars — Randy Orton, Sheamus, Dolph Ziggler, Chris Jericho, Kane, and Daniel Bryan — had taken up the same side of the room as The Shield, each gender finding solace with those of their own kind. John Cena, CM Punk, and Alberto Del Rio had been thrust into the group whose meetings were held the day before, and it ruffled Dean's feathers somewhat. He would have appreciated being in a room with someone like John Cena, a man who always maintained his calm demeanor under any circumstances. It would have helped him to not feel so lost when Vince pulled the door closed and engaged the lock, joining Paul and Stephanie at the table and taking his place at the head of it.

"Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome," Vince said, clearing his throat and taking a sip of coffee out of his paper cup. A few mumbled hellos were all he received in return, and he bowed his head, shuffling some papers before diving right in. "You'll all get this same spiel every year, so be prepared to hear it every year hereafter. On May 5, 2002, life as we all knew it in this company changed permanently, as that was the memorable day when we officially made the shift from the World Wrestling Federation to World Wrestling Entertainment. We didn't know it then, but that change laid the foundation for the pinnacle we've reached today."

He continued, "Our company is one rich with a fighting spirit and sacred tradition to not only create, but to maintain the best of the best in this business. Every single person in this room, rookies and veterans alike, signed a contract that bound them to uphold the principles of this company, and in doing so, they agreed to take part in what will be termed the 1st annual Grapple Pact, sponsored and funded by World Wrestling Entertainment, Incorporated," Vince boasted, beaming into the faces of those who would have loved to wipe the smirk right off of his face. "In conjunction with the latest labor laws set forth by our great country's Department of Labor, it is now legal, and encouraged, for businesses to require their employees to fight for their spot in the company for which they work, as you all well know by now."

Vince cast a glance at Stephanie, and she stood hesitantly from her seat, smoothing down her creased pants before interlocking her fingers and placing her joined hands on her lower abdomen. She shifted in her stance and stared at the floor, which was the polar opposite of the composure a gifted speaker like her normally possessed. Tucking some hair behind her ear, she began, "Hi, everyone. You are all very special to us, but my dad wants — "

Vince cut in with a grunt, sending her a pointed look. "Would you like to rephrase that?"

"Um..." Stephanie paused, shrugging her shoulder helplessly before resuming. "What I meant to say was that we _all_ would like to see you compete and show us why you deserve to keep your spot in this company. The Grapple Pact is a way for the cream of the crop to rise to the top, and for those who don't have what it takes to step aside and allow someone more capable to fill their spot," she said. Gaining some confidence, she spoke louder and with more authority as she continued. "Workers in every industry imaginable, from entertainment to hospitality, banking to marketing, are competing in their company's own unique events to secure their spots as employees, and we expect nothing less from all of you."

"That's right," Paul seconded. He rose from his seat and placed a hand on the small of Stephanie's back, dismissing her from her speech. She breathed a hearty sigh of relief and took her seat. "This was not a decision made lightly or overnight, but with virtually every business in America challenging their workers to be the best, this was an opportunity we couldn't very well pass up. Every person on our active roster will take part in this, and nobody is getting a free pass, regardless of their status in this business. You all will have this weekend to recuperate from any in-ring injuries and prepare and, beginning this Monday, Raw will be on indefinite leave as you compete in the 2013 Grapple Pact. I wish you all the best of luck, and we will now open the floor to questions or concerns."

A sea of hands raised, but Randy ignored them, speaking out of turn. "How long are we expected to be out there, and where exactly are we going?"

"You're going to an undisclosed location that will supply any number of real life challenges, and you'll be expected to combat them to the best of your abilities," Paul responded. "You'll also be expected to remain at the location for seven full days, after which time you'll be picked up and flown home."

Everyone else dropped their hands and followed Randy's lead, calling out their questions whenever there was a break in the conversation. Natalya was next to speak. "This whole thing is ridiculous. I can't believe this is regulated by law and that you're able to send us into the wilderness to battle some unseen forces. How does this prove anything about what kind of workers we are in the ring?" she asked, her words followed by outbursts of agreement from her fellow coworkers.

"This challenge is meant to show who has the drive and determination to overcome all of life's obstacles," Vince responded. "If you can go where we put you and survive the elements, you can survive anything, and that will let us know you're a good fit for this company."

"This is outrageous, though. Seriously, it is," Dolph cut in. "I've got family members depending on me and the money I make, and you're going to play with my life and theirs by sending me out someplace where I could possibly get killed? What sorts of things are we even expected to do when we get there?"

"I understand your concerns, and everyone else's as well," Stephanie answered. "I can assure you we're looking out for all of your best interests, and we want to see you succeed in this game."

"So our lives are all just a game to you?" Dolph retorted. "If that's the case, rip up my contract right now, because I want nothing more to do with this company. This is a joke."

He began sauntering away, until Stephanie's palm slammed against the tabletop and sent a jolt through the room that instantly froze everyone in place, like a mass of icebergs in the ocean. "Listen to me, because I'm not through. This is all very hard for everyone, and we _do_ take your lives seriously, but this is a new development that just about every company in this country is adhering to, and it's only right we join them."

"Right, because if everyone else jumps off a bridge, you do it, too?" Chris snarled, crossing him arms over his broad chest. "This is just about the dumbest thing I've ever heard of, and I'm insulted, as a vet, that you would expect me to go through with this. It actually wouldn't change a damn thing even if I was a rookie, either. I have a family to take care of, and I'm not about to risk my life all for some stupid challenge, just so you guys can sit around patting yourselves on the backs for keeping up with everyone else. I won't do it."

"Need I remind you all the consequences of breaching your contract?" Stephanie warned, eyes flickering with an unnamed emotion as she pressed her lips together and looked around the room. This time, Roman noticed, she wasn't afraid to look anyone in the eyes. "This isn't a company policy. This is a _nationwide_ procedure, backed by our government, to promote survival of the fittest in all business environments. As your employer, it is our right to do this if we see fit."

"The thought of a business sending a baker out to fight for their life as proof of how good they are in the kitchen is insulting _and_ ridiculous," Sheamus said, his strong Irish diction coming through as its own representation of the native lands he hailed from.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Stephanie pressed her palms together. "I know this is a shock to the systems of all of you, but this is out of our hands now. The details have already been set in stone, and you will be competing for your lives. Show us how much you want to be here, and you'll be rewarded when you return. I can't speak to what a baking company may be doing with their bakers, but this is the WWE, and we're focused only on what we do."

"So, what are the challenges like?" Daniel wondered.

"I can't mention specifics, but I can tell you that you will be battling the elements and will come into contact with wildlife and other circumstances that could put you in pretty bad shape if you don't act quickly enough. Do your best with what you're given, and use each other for help. There are no rules against speaking to one another."

"Are we all going to the same place?" Kane demanded.

"We have split the active roster into six separate groups, mostly equal in numbers, and each group will be sent to a different place. The location is predetermined and will remain a secret until it is time for you to go," she explained. "We will hold another meeting with all of the...remaining superstars upon your returns."

"Is it at least in this country?" Kane quizzed.

"It is. Nobody will be leaving the country," Stephanie nodded. Dean glanced from Roman to Seth, itching to ask a question, but fearing he would launch into a diatribe that would set him and his friends at a bigger disadvantage than ever before.

"No disrespect," Dean spoke up, finding his voice and deciding to go with it, "but I see you're not sending your husband away. What makes you think you can play with our lives but keep him safe in your own home?"

"This is for the _active_ roster," Paul reiterated, cutting in. There was no anger or accusation in his tone, but it was easy not to be bothered when he would be spending his days inside his cushy home while everyone else was sent to battle. "I'm not an active member, so there's no need for me to compete."

"You still wrestle," Seth pointed out. Perhaps Dean's confidence had rubbed off on him. "That should count, since you're not officially retired."

"A few matches a year, if that, doesn't count as active roster. Sorry, guys," Paul shook his head and grabbed his water bottle as he stood from his chair and glanced around the room. "Any more questions?"

Roman, feeling time slipping away, had what could possibly have been the most daunting question of all. He didn't want to bring it up, because the answer could potentially be the most terrifying aspect of the situation he was being thrust into, but he would rather be scared and informed than ignorant and uninformed, so he raised his index finger. "I have one."

"Roman?" Vince nodded, giving him the floor.

"What happens to us if, say, we decide to walk out of here and not go? What if we don't want to do this anymore and want out of our contracts immediately. You put this whole thing about the pact in tiny enough writing that none of us would see it in our contracts, so I think there should be some leeway here, since you tricked us into signing those contracts anyway."

Vince drew a long breath in and release it through his lips, searching the papers in front of him for some sort of answer. Either that, or he was avoiding having to look at the one person willing to confront him dead-on. After some time had passed, a block of time Roman and the others had lost track of, though it couldn't have been more than a minute, the Chairman of the Board offered his response as if he were answering a question as simple as what color the sky was. "If you decide to walk, you become the responsibility of the government, and that's something we have no control over. They will take you into custody, fly you to an undisclosed location, and make you compete in a challenge that will make the one our company has planned for you look like child's play. If I can offer a bit of advice, don't walk away from this. The problem will only follow you and grow exponentially."

Roman leaned against the wall for support. He was floored, as was everyone else, and it went silent enough to hear the buzz of engines from the vehicles outside, passing on the highway running parallel to the building. Vince asked if there were any final question before the meeting dispersed, but nobody made a peep. They were either too afraid of the answers they would receive, or they couldn't find their voices long enough to form an actual question. Stephanie was biting her bottom lip, watching them all with sympathy, and she gathered her papers and rose from her seat, leaving the room without another word.

Before the door to the conference room shut all the way, a muffled sob could be heard escaping the back of her throat. Paul's exit followed soon after. Left only with Vince, everyone stared at their feet, sorting through how they would say goodbye to their families and face the possibility of never seeing them again. The challenge went beyond their jobs and extended to their personal lives, and it wasn't right or fair, but there was no way out, and their chances were better in playing their company's games than being sent to the punishment games for those who had shunned their company's initial orders. When Vince called for any objections and asked if anyone was choosing to quit, Roman glanced from Dean to Seth, each giving a slight nod to signify they were all in.

Vince nodded curtly and left the group with a final declaration before gathering his papers and leaving them alone.

"All right, then, I wish you all the best of luck in the 1st annual Grapple Pact. May only the best men and women survive."


End file.
